Chapter 17:

More Ands, Ifs, and Butts

"For the last time, Trixie, will you please go back to bed?" Honey pleaded, rolling over to face the wall.

"I most certainly will not!" Miss Belden shrieked, shaking the young woman's shoulder for the third time. "Haven't you been listening to me, Honey? Bernie's done something to Papa LeBlanc!"

Honey emitted a groan and flipped back over. Propping herself up on her elbows, the weary girl replied, "Oh, but Trixie, I have been listening. Only I'm sure Mr. LeBlanc is fine. You just had a crazy dream, that's all."

Trixie crossed her arms but didn't move from her perch on the edge of her friend's bed. "You can think what you want, Honey, but I wasn't dreaming," she insisted. "Bernie was speaking in that weird broken English of his. Half the words coming out of his mouth sounded like French. I couldn't have dreamt them up if I wanted to."

"Well, in that case, maybe you misunderstood what Mr. Benoit said about Mr. LeBlanc?" Honey suggested.

Trixie brought her fist firmly down on the mattress, causing it to quake. "No!" she insisted, full of frustration. "I understood that part loud and clear, Hon. Whoever Bernie was chatting up with all that 'mon amour stuff' of his, he promised them that he'd taken care of Papa. Lt. Hebert is the only person I can think of who might have been able to rig the alligator tag lottery. But I didn't get the feeling Mr. Mush-Mouth was talking to the Warden."

Honey smiled. "You never can tell, Trixie," she replied honestly. "Mrs. Robert indicated that Lt. Hebert and Mr. LeBlanc had been having differences. Do you recall any other of the French words you heard? 'Mon amour' means 'my love'. I know a little French from boarding school. One of my roommates was from Paris."

Trixie chewed on her thumbnail for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted. I think I heard the word "frère' – you know, like in Frere Jacques, that round they teach us in elementary school? I'm pretty sure I heard Bernie telling his midnight caller they could assure their frère that their dealings were fini – which I'm assuming means done?"

"Yes, like in 'finished'," Honey said. "And 'frère', in this instance, means brother, Trixie. It makes me wonder if Mr. Benoit was speaking with Ms. Camille, and she somehow convinced her brother to get those tags for Beau."

Detective Belden's eyes widened. "Gleeps Honey," she said with a gasp. "You don't think Bernie's bumped off Papa for Ms. Camille, do you? Now that I think about it, he did say something about a tomb! Maybe Mr. Benoit buried Mr. LeBlanc in the backyard!"

Honey grabbed her pillow and gave her friend a firm whop. "Oh, Trixie," she declared. "Must you always assume the worst? Of course, I don't think Mr. Benoit 'bumped off' Papa. It's more likely Bernie's the one who's been cutting Mr. LeBlanc's alligator lines. This is just speculation on my part, but if what you told me about Papa breaking up his son and Camille's marriage is true, Ms. Camille may have asked Bernie to ruin Mr. LeBlanc's season simply out of spite."

Miss Belden ran her fingers through her tangled mop hair as she thought about her partner's theory. "I suppose it's possible," she concluded. "But why would Ms. Camille choose Bernie to do her dirty work, Honey? He's one of Papa's closest friends. Besides, Mr. Benoit has that bad arm, don't forget. I don't see him being able to handle a boat in his condition."

Honey sighed, much too tired to think. "I don't know, Trixie," she admitted. "I'm still not convinced you didn't dream up the whole thing. So why don't we get some sleep? Maybe in the morning, things will make more sense."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Trixie harrumphed. "I think the thing to do is march ourselves over to Papa's and make sure he's okay, Honey. We can peek in through Mr. LeBlanc's bedroom window. If he seems fine, we'll come back and sleep on things, as you say. But if Papa's missing, well, that's another story." Miss Belden was dead serious and had finally gained her friend's full attention. Honey had nearly toppled out of bed.

"Trixie Belden, have you lost your mind?!" she cried. "It's far too dangerous to be sneaking around this time of night! If the Rougarou doesn't get us, Chip-tooth Chucky or that bear that ripped into the hen-house just might. Besides, what if we wake up Fogerty and he starts barking? Ms. Foret is bound to fly out of her house and begin shooting at us from across Bayou. That is if Papa LeBlanc hasn't already filled us with lead! Cap told me his grandfather keeps a loaded rifle by his bed."

Miss Belden crossed her arms and set her chin defiantly. As far as she was concerned, her friend was being a worry-wart – and Trixie was getting tired of it. What Honey needed a good dousing in Mrs. Robert's blessed tree-stump water! "Fine," she snapped, getting up from the bed. "If you don't want to go with me, I'll go alone, Miss Jellyfish."

Honey grabbed the snippy girl's arm and sunk in her fingers. The remark had been uncalled for, and it'd stung. But even more so, it had angered the prudent young lady. "I'm warning you, Trixie," she returned coldly. "If you take even one step out of this cabin, I'm going straight to your father. And don't think for one minute I'm kidding!"

As Miss Wheeler released her grip, Trixie grunted and went to her own bed. Then she just lay there.

As soon as Trixie was sure her friend was asleep? She'd head for Mr. LeBlanc's. What did Detective Belden need with a partner, anyway? Especially one who threatened to snitch on her! From here on out? Trixie would fly solo.

Should Honey wake up, find her missing, and run to tell Daddy? Well, then, that was just fine with Miss Belden, too. Wouldn't her father and Honey have egg on their faces if Papa's bed turned up empty?!

But Miss Wheeler didn't fall off to sleep. She was waiting for Trixie to do so first. And as Miss Belden let out a frustrated groan, Honey echoed it with a heavy sigh.

"Trixie, let's not go to sleep angry," Honey finally said, breaking the girls' standoff. "If you're truly concerned about Papa, maybe we ought to call Aunt Renee and ask her to peek in on him. I think we'd be disturbing her for nothing. I honestly can't see Bernie committing first-degree murder in exchange for a handful of alligator tags. Capital punishment is a legal penalty in Louisiana for such an offense. Bernie would be risking the death sentence."

As Honey fell silent, Trixie waved the white flag. Maybe she did need a partner? Her level-headed friend had made a very viable argument. "No need to wake Aunt Renee," Miss Belden conceded. "You're right, of course, Hon. Bernie's many things, but I don't think he's a fool. So let's get some rest. We'll rethink things once it's light."

Forty-five minutes later, however, Trixie was again counting the ticks coming from Honey's wristwatch. If the antique timepiece hadn't been a family heirloom, the fit-to-be-tied girl might have thrown it across the room. But instead, like some hapless victim caught in a cruel time loop, she arose from her bed hoping to escape the madness.

Only this time, instead of stuffing her pillow under her arm, Trixie slipped it beneath the covers, giving the appearance that she was still tucked in. Miss Belden had no intention of returning to her bathroom oasis downstairs–but rather sneaking off to Mr. LeBlanc's house. If Trixie played her cards right? No one would ever know she'd gone.

Hurrying as not to wake her friend, the young lady didn't bother changing out of her pajamas. The night was warm, and Miss Belden didn't intend on running into anyone. But she did go for her purse, hoping to retrieve her pen-light flashlight. Only the frustrated girl had forgotten the mini torch's batteries were dead. Trixie should have picked up more at the grocery store. Now, she'd have to stumble through the dark. Still, if Miss Belden kept to the road, she figured she'd be fine.

So down the ladder, Trixie went.

But as the young lady's bare feet hit the main level, a deep nasal snort vibrated across the wooden floorboards, sending a shiver up her spine. The guttural noise had emitted from the hide-a-bed. And though it had only been a snore from her cousin Hallie, Trixie had been awakened to the fact that she might be wise to carry something to protect herself on her journey. Unlike the tuckered gator hunter, catching up on her zzzs, not every creature was deep in hibernation at this hour. And Goldilocks surely didn't want to end up some hungry bear's late-night snack. But what could she use as a weapon?

Trixie's razor-sharp eyes zeroed in on the fireplace set. "Yes," she thought flatly, "the poker might work."

Tip-toeing over to the hearth, the nervous girl carefully removed the barbed iron from its holder and waved it experimentally. But unbeknownst to Miss Belden, the poker tip had caught the afghan covering the taxidermy mount above the fireplace. And as she lowered the rod, the crocheted coverlet came with it.

Glancing up at the severed head, which was now fully exposed, Trixie let out a scream as Papa LeBlanc gazed down at her!

"What's the matter with you, child?" his black-balled eyes bellowed in greeting. "Who were you expecting? Santa Claus? It's an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth in the swamp, don't you know?!"

"Gleeps, Honey, it was the worst nightmare I've ever had!" Trixie told her friend the following day as they cleared the dirty breakfast dishes from the tables under the shelter house. "The deer head had been replaced with Mr. LeBlanc's head, and he had the nerve of laughing at me with those beady eyes of his. The dream was so vivid I thought it was real when I woke up. It makes me wonder if you weren't right, and I dreamt up all that stuff with Bernie, too."

Honey smiled as she led the way to the kitchen. "It could be, Trixie," she confessed sympathetically. "I used to have nightmares like that when I was in boarding school. It became difficult to know what was real and what wasn't. It got so bad at one point I was afraid I was losing my mind. Thank goodness Miss Trask was there to help me through that terrible time."

"It must have been awful for you," Trixie replied. "I actually had to take a peek under the coverlet this morning just to convince myself it wasn't Mr. LeBlanc hiding there. How crazy is that?"

Miss Wheeler giggled. "Pretty nutty," she agreed. "I imagine you must have been incredibly relieved when Papa felt well enough to dine with us this morning, Trixie. Other than those dark circles and bags under his eyes, he looked fairly well, don't you think?"

"If anything, better than Aunt Renee," Miss Belden agreed. "If she and Aunt Liz hadn't put their foot down, I'm certain Papa would have gone gator hunting."

"You mean if Jim hadn't strong-armed Mr. LeBlanc and helped Ms. Belden drag him back in bed," Honey chuckled, setting her stack of plates on the countertop by the sink. "I overheard Bernie telling Papa if he wanted to run alligator lines, he'd go with him as a second deckhand. Mr. Benoit seemed to think he could be of help– even one armed."

"I heard that too," Trixie said. "And I didn't like the sounds of it, Honey. It made me realize that Mr. Benoit isn't as helpless as he appears. If he had a partner, he could be stealing people's gators and selling them illegally on the black market to make a few bucks. You don't think Beau might be involved, do you?"

Honey started back for another load of dishes, and her curly-haired friend followed. "I don't think so, Trixie," she said. "Beau's awfully proud that he can help support his family during their time of need. Cap told me Beau's been turning over the proceeds from his tags to his father. If he knew his Dad had tilted the lottery in his favor, I suspect Beau would be deeply hurt. I've noticed he's a lot like Jim in that way. But before we go trying to figure out whom Bernie's accomplice might be, there's something else I've been dying to tell you."

"Then don't keep me in suspense!" Trixie cried, grabbing her friend's arm.

Honey grinned. "Remember when I went to the kitchen for another gallon of milk during breakfast? Well, Uncle Zach was there, arguing with Aunt Liz. I hate to say it, Trixie, but I ducked beside the fridge before they saw me and listened in.

Uncle Zach was insisting Aunt Liz let his father go hunting," Honey revealed. "He said if Papa re-injured his back wrestling in an alligator or ended up winging someone with a stray bullet, it would prove Papa was no longer fit to run Anglers' Landing, and he and Aunt Liz would be able to, and I quote, 'put an end to the fun and games'."

"Wow!" Trixie exclaimed as she came to a stop under the shelter house. "Why, Uncle Zach practically confessed that he's the one who's been messing with Papa's lines, Honey!"

Honey began filling a large round serving tray with empty glasses. "I wouldn't go that far, Trixie," she said. "We still need to find some evidence to back it up. But I say we're on the right track, wouldn't you?"

"I'd say," Miss Belden agreed. "And you know, Honey. It makes me wonder if Bernie was talking to Aunt Renee on the phone last night. We both know they have a history. And Uncle Zach is her brother. Maybe Aunt Renee has decided Uncle Zach is right, and their father needs to be in a home. She could have gone to Bernie for help rather than get her own hands dirty!"

Honey paused to process the notion. "You could be right," she concluded hastily. "But I don't see how Uncle Zach could have rigged the alligator lottery, Trixie. You're forgetting about Beau's tags."

Miss Belden's face fell. She had forgotten about those blasted tags. "Well…maybe Hallie's uncle has something on Game Warden Hebert?" she suggested, chewing on a thumbnail. "I sure would like to know what Papa's beef is with the good lieutenant."

Returning from Mr. LeBlanc's, Jim overheard his Shamus's last remark. Sitting down at the table, the red-headed young man reached for a leftover biscuit and then glanced up to make sure the fishermen were at the boathouse. "You didn't hear this from me, Trix," he said quietly, "But it has to do with Sam's divorce. During the court proceedings, Papa LeBlanc stated that he witnessed his brother Terrance kissing his son's wife while Sam and she were still married. Only Lt. Hebert was able to disprove it. He produced evidence showing Terrance was at the local Wildlife Management check station validating a white-tailed deer he'd harvested that morning. Not only was the parish and the time of the kill listed on the report section of the tag the officer presented, but also T.'s signature and the date and time recorded."

As Jim paused to take a bite of biscuit, Trixie sat down beside him. "So Papa was lying?" she asked.

The handsome young man shrugged. "Terrance claims he and Camille weren't involved until after the breakup and that his brother was confused, Trix. Terrance told the jury that Papa LeBlanc was in the early stages of dementia and was recalling a later incident. According to Sam, Camille's attorney brought in a trained psychologist who backed up his uncle's claim. But Sam thinks there's nothing wrong with his father's memory and the doctor's a quack. Sam also believes the Warden fudged the game report so his sister would make out in the settlement."

Honey could hardly believe her ears. "What a horrible situation," she said sadly. "Uncle Zach must have believed the psychologist. I wonder if there is any truth to the diagnosis. Papa LeBlanc is rather outspoken but seems sharp as a tack."

"That's my take, too," Jim admitted. "But it gets worse, Honey. Camille swore under oath that Papa LeBlanc had been making advances toward her. She claimed that Papa was under the delusion that he'd have a chance with her if he broke up her marriage to his son. Lt. Hebert apparently said he'd witnessed one such event at a holiday family gathering."

"Oh, heavens! Poor Sam," Honey cried.

Jim grunted and rose from the table. "If you want to feel sorry for someone, I suggest you feel sorry for Ben," he said, giving Trix a hand up. "Sam openly admits that he was already involved with Maxine when all this allegedly went down. In fact, he sort of brags about his affair. That's just plain wrong. What kind of father goes after his son's girlfriend?"

Trixie cringed. "The kind of father whose own father goes after their wife, I suppose," she said. "Did Sam tell you all this while you were in the boat, Jim?"

"Afraid so," Mr. Frayne admitted as he started helping the girls gather the last of the dirty dishes. "Hanging around with the LeBlancs has really opened my eyes. I've always been a family-first kind of guy. But I'm beginning to understand where the saying you can pick your friends, but not your family, comes from. I'll do my part as an honorary LeBlanc while we're here, but it sure will be good to get back home."

"Dan was saying the same thing last night," Miss Belden revealed. "So far, Mart's the only one who's escaped the drama. But I imagine it's only a matter of time before…"

Trixie's sentence was drowned out by Uncle Sam bellowing, "I don't know what you do in New York, Mart Belden?! But Here in Louisiana, we don't litter! Now get a bag and clean this mess up immediately!"

"But Mr. LeBlanc," came the young man's whiny return, "I swear, we cleaned up everything yesterday after we filled the bait buckets!"

"Then how do you explain the empty meat packages scattered around?!" the angry Cajun barked back. "For crying out loud, boy, stop lying, and just hop to it so we can get going!"

Trixie gulped. Miss Belden had been responsible for taking the garbage bag containing the wrappers to the dumpster the previous morning. Was it possible she'd left it by the freezer, and an animal had gotten into it? The worried young lady thought she'd disposed of the bag. But maybe Papa LeBlancs' dementia was contagious!

"You two finish here while I go rescue Mart!" Trixie told her friends, starting up the hill. "I'll be back shortly – that is if Uncle Zach doesn't send me off to the Shady Rest Boca Raton instead!"

"The Shady Rest Boca Raton?" Jim called out as his sister giggled.

"Honey will explain while I'm gone," the spinning girl returned. "There's a lot going on that you don't know about, Jim. I think it's high time that you did."

Once the young people had finished their morning housekeeping duties, and Miss Wheeler had placed a chocolate mint on everyone's pillow, Trixie, Jim, and Honey headed off to prepare bait buckets.

If truth be told, Trixie wasn't looking forward to the disgusting job. Uncle Sam and her father hadn't exactly been happy when the sheepish girl had confessed that she'd been the one to bungle the task by leaving the garbage out the day before. Both men admitted that accidents did happen. But Daddy had made his daughter promise the LeBlancs it wouldn't happen again. Only now, Trixie was under pressure not to slip up.

At least Mart had been grateful for his sister coming forward and assistance in picking up the trash. But he did confide in Trixie that he, too, recalled her running to the dumpster - as did Honey. Still, the plastic and foam wrappings littering the break area told another story. And Trixie knew better than anyone that the evidence was hard to dispute.

"Maybe Uncle Zach and Aunt Liz planted them there to make you look crazy," Jim teased, giving the stewing young lady a playful knock to the chin. "If they can prove you're off your rocker like Papa, the sheriff won't believe you when you try to expose their wicked plan. By the way, should one of the LeBlancs inquire, what size straight jack do you wear?"

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny," Trixie chided as the three walked on. "I want you to know Jim Frayne, whether I'm crazy or not, Honey, and I will figure out who's been poaching alligators around here. My mistake for thinking you'd want to help."

"Ah, Trix, you know I'm just giving you a hard time," Jim said as they approached the tool shed where the bait buckets were stored. Like I was telling Honey; I agree. There are some pretty shady things going on around here. But I'm not convinced Uncle Zach and Aunt Liz are behind the cut lines. Those 'fun and games' Uncle Zach's hoping to end could very well be his father's. And did you ever stop to think, if Bernie were talking to Aunt Renee last night, that he might have been promising to watch after Papa when he said he'd 'take care of him'? You could have taken that tag stuff out of context, too. I don't know. It's all open to interpretation. Bernie's hard to understand. Anyway, I hope it goes without saying that I'll help you and Honey in any way I can. I'm sure Dan and Mart will too, for that matter," he added.

Trixie smiled gratefully. She and Jim might not always see eye to eye. But Detective Belden found Jim's opinion, like Honey's, invaluable. "So you agree it's too early to go to the sheriff with our suspicions?"she asked Jim as he opened the door to the shack and waved the girls in. Trixie and Honey had gotten into trouble before by not going to the authorities sooner.

Mr. Frayne scratched his head and looked uncomfortable. "I'm torn," he admitted. "It might be smart to get your father's advice, Trix. If this is an internal family matter, we could worsen the situation. On the other hand, if someone did rig the tag lottery, that's a criminal offense, and we don't want to become accessories to the crime by looking the other way. No matter what happens, innocent people like Beau will get hurt."

"They're already being hurt," Honey pointed out. "And I agree with Jim, Trixie. Talking to your father is the right thing to do."

"But what if Daddy tells us we have to stop working on the case?!" Trixie objected as she grabbed a stack of bait buckets.

"Knowing your Dad, he'll probably just warn you to be careful and to keep things under wraps," Jim said reasonably. "So, what do you say, tonight before bed, we call a Bob-White meeting over at cabin two and invite your father? Mart and Dan need to be in on this too," he added.

Trixie frowned. "I'll agree on one condition. No honorary Bob-Whites are to attend the meeting," she insisted.

"Right," Jim replied. "Your cousins and Beau are too close to the situation. We'll keep things to ourselves for now." As Honey agreed, the young man collected the bucket lids. "Have we got everything?" he asked. Jim was anxious to get back into the fresh air. The shed was mighty smelly.

"Just about," Miss Wheeler returned. "Let me snag Mart's chicken marinade. Trixie, did you get the key to the freezer?"

"Yep, it's in my hip pocket," the young lady replied. "But don't let me forget to put it back, Honey. If I leave the key lying around, Uncle Sam is bound to use me as bait!" The LeBlancs locked up the freezer to keep out thieves - animal and human.

Only outside, when Trixie went to open the cooler, she discovered someone, or something, had pried the tab with the lock clean off the box. "Quick, come look at this!" she cried, lifting the unlatched lid. The freezer, which had been half full of meat the day before, was down a quarter.

Jim let out a whistle. "That explains those wrappers you picked up, Trix," he said. "It looks like the LeBlancs have a nuisance bear on their hands. The same one that ravaged the chicken coop must have gotten into the freezer last night. I can't think of anything else strong enough to have broken the lock."

"I must say that bear had quite a picnic," Honey said, peaking inside the chest. "I knew you had taken that trash bag to the dumpsters yesterday, Trixie. We'll have to tell Aunt Liz what's happened. There's plenty of beef and chicken to fill bait buckets today. But we'll need more meat before the week is out. Did Ms. LeBlanc run home after breakfast?"

"She's over at Papa's" Jim replied. "We'll talk to her when we go for the eggs. I'm anxious to see if the bear tried to get in the hen house again last night. He'll come back here tonight, for sure."

"If it was a bear," Trixie returned. Miss Belden had been examining the gravel in the break area for tell-tale footprints. If there'd been any, they'd already been disturbed by the morning's commotion. However, the sharp-eyed girl did find a very suspicious cigarette butt lying by the freezer.

Scooping it up, Trixie decided the butt looked somewhat fresh. It wasn't warm. So it'd been there for a while -but not long enough for the recent rains to have washed the tell-tale pink lipstick stains from it. Either the smoker had been a man in drag, or more likely a gussied-up woman!

Trixie now wished she's saved the butts she'd discovered at the dumpsters. The young detective would have liked to have compared the samples. Something in her gut told her they'd match.

But that was water under the bridge. The vacillating young lady decided she wasn't quite ready to go dumpster diving among the mudbug tailings on a hunch. But taking a tip from Bernie, the slippery sleuth did stuff her latest piece of evidence into the pocket of her camp shirt. Trixie wouldn't make the same mistake twice should she encounter more suspicious butts.

Detective Belden was beginning to think some crafty she-devil had broken into the freezer. If so, the female thief was in for a rude awakening when she discovered the stolen chucks were spoiled. Only if some underhanded woman had swiped the meat, why had she bothered to take it out of its wrappings? Unless Ms. X had wanted it to pin the crime on a hungry animal?

Of course, Jim could just as easily be correct, and it was the work of a bear, Trixie decided. When the Bob-Whites had been camping in Idaho, Cap had warned the teenagers that a bear's sense of smell was seven times that of a bloodhound. But would a black bear have been able to smell the frozen meat in the freezer? Let alone managed to eat it once it'd wrestled it out? Bears did have awfully powerful jaws. And the poultry and beef would have thawed in the heat. But that took time.

Trixie clutched her curls and groaned. If she encountered one more mystery she was just sure her head would explode. Oh, why did she always have to overthink everything?!

Aunt Liz answered the teenagers' knock at Papa's house. The chicken's foot, which she'd hung on the outside door knob, seemed almost laughable after the young people's morning, and Trixie rolled her eyes. Mrs. LeBlanc should have thought to put a claw on the deep freezer. It might have scratched back at the thief who stole the meat, leaving incriminating marks on their face.

The chicken coop, thankfully, had come through the night unscathed. After inspecting Mart's patch job to its door, Jim was more convinced than ever that the LeBlancs' had a rogue bear on their hands. Trixie, however, still held doubts.

And so did Mr. LeBlanc – at least about the freezer having been broken into by one.

After the three Bob-Whites had told Aunt Liz about the upsetting incident, she'd led the young people into the living room, where they'd repeated their account to Papa. Aunt Renee was in the guest room, taking a nap. But Mr. LeBlanc, who'd been reclined in his easy chair watching an old western on T.V., had sprung to his feet upon hearing the news.

"'Lizbeth, get the sheriff on the phone!" he'd cried. "Those dastardly Forets have been at it again! As if stealin' my gators wasn't enough, now those blastards are stealin' my bait!"

Sheriff Theriot was the largest man Trixie had ever met. He was practically as big around as he was tall. And he towered above Miss Belden and her two friends like a giant redwood tree.

Most of the lawman's beef was muscle, and despite the man's jovial attitude, Trixie guessed he wasn't someone you wanted to push too far. Sheriff Theriot might seem laid back. But there was tightness around his dark eyes that said differently.

After giving the outside of the old freezer a quick once-over, the sheriff took a brief peek inside and then scribbled something in his memo book. "Looks to me like you've got yourselves a might happy bear," he told Mr. LeBlanc. "If it comes back, I suggest you call Clete, Luke. He'll run him off once and for all. In the meantime, I suggest you have your boys wrestle that ancient thing you call an icebox into the boathouse when they get home tonight. No need to tempt the sorry critter further."

Papa harrumphed, and Aunt Liz patted her father-in-law's arm. "No bear did that!" Mr. LeBlanc insisted. "That icebox has been sitting in the same spot for nearly twenty years. One's never bothered it before, Maurice. You'd be wise to listen to me. This is the Foret's dirty work, I tell you."

Sheriff Theriot tipped back his uniform Stetson and huffed. "Lucas, you and I have been friends, for how long? Have you ever known me to be wrong about something like this? I'll give you, Marcel and his boys may look and act like mangy ol' bears. But they're nothing but lily-livered Teddies when you get right down to it."

"But Mr. LeBlanc could be right!" Trixie interjected as Papa grumbled something inaudible under his breath. "I found a cigarette butt lying in the gavel right where you're standing, Sheriff Theriot. I saved it, thinking it could be evidence. Only I'm afraid I touched it. But maybe you can still get a DNA sample from it?"

Trixie dug the butt out of her pocket and handed it to the sheriff.

Miss Belden had begun to suspect that Sure Shot Shelly had dropped the cigarette. She was about to point out the lipstick marks on the tailing to Sheriff Theriot when the giant of a man began to laugh.

"Well, now, this changes everything, Detective Belden," he announced. "Mr. LeBlanc told me he had a pair of top-notch private eyes staying with him. I'll put out an APB on Smokey the Bear immediately."

As everyone, except for Honey, joined in the big man's laughter, Trixie clammed up. She decided to keep her suspicions about Mrs. Foret to herself for now. There wasn't any need to draw further ridicule from the close-minded lawman.

Sheriff Theriot then tossed Miss Belden's stray puzzle piece over his shoulder, his business complete. As Aunt Liz and Papa walked the tall man to his car, Trixie scrambled to retrieve the smoked-out cigarette.

What do you plan to do with that? Jim said as his best girl returned the butt to the pocket of her shirt.

Trixie shrugged. "Just doing my best not to be a litterbug," she said. "In case you haven't heard, they don't litter here in Louisiana."

After the young people had gotten the laundry rolling, Trixie, Jim, and Honey had hopped atop their borrowed bikes and set off in search of coyote tracks. Miss Belden had had no problem remembering the way to the boar kill site. And while the bumpy back road had seemed to stretch forever when Beau had taken the girls four-wheeling, the location wasn't far from Anglers' Landing.

But now that they were at the site, Trixie had to scratch her head. She knew she was in the correct location. She recognized the twisted oak off to her left, which had been posted by the Forets with a no-trespassing sign. Yet the teens had only come across a few scattered tracks in the road – and those they had were faint and hard to make out.

"So how many coyotes are we looking at?" the curious girl asked as she squatted down next to Jim, who was examining the prints.

"None, as far as I can tell," the young man mumbled as he measured the length and width of one of the tracks with his hand. "From the number and regularity of the prints, I'd agree with Cap that a single animal likely took down the boar. But these prints are far too large to have been left by any coyote, Trix. The size and spread of the toes would make me think some kind of massive wolf left them if I didn't know better."

"A wolf!? Trixie cried excitedly. "Aunt Renee says wolves are considered extinct in this state, Jim! Does that mean Dr. Guidry was right, and a Dire Wolf is roaming the woods around Bayou Chevrette?"

Mr. Frayne rocked back on his heels and scooted over some so Honey could squeeze in. "I don't know," he confessed. "When we get back to camp, we'll have to see if your aunt can put us in touch with the professor. I'd like to get his opinion. If I had known we'd run into something like this, I would have brought some plaster so we could have taken casts of the prints."

Until now, Honey had been quiet. And Trixie had presumed her friend was covering up the fact that she was scared out of her wits. But that wasn't the case at all. Miss Wheeler had simply been deep in thought.

"Jim, don't wolves have four toes?" the pretty girl asked, breaking her silence. "If I'm not mistaken, this deeper print over here has five toes. If you look carefully, you'll notice a crooked pinkie set lower from the others. The indentation, made by the animal's pad, also seems unusually far from the tip of its foot?"

"I noticed those irregularities too," Jim returned, his face serious. "Neither Beau nor Cap was foolish enough to be out here barefoot, were they?" he asked the girls.

Miss Belden hooted and gave the freckled young man a shove. "You've got to be kidding?" she said. "Beau was wearing his boots, and Cap had on those goofy moccasins of his, Jim. Why do you ask?"

"Look carefully at the print Honey's talking about and then ask me that," the stony-faced boy declared. "What does it look like to you, Trix?"

Miss Belden's eyes popped as Jim's sister pointed out the track. "Why, if it weren't for those pointy nails, I'd say the print looks almost human!" she declared.

"Could it have been made by a bear?" Honey wondered.

Jim ran his fingers through his hair uncomfortably. "It's very possible," he admitted. "Though a bear's large toe is usually on the outside of its foot, whereas the big toe of this track is on the inside, Honey."

"Then maybe what we're dealing with isn't a bear or wolf but a Rougarou!" Trixie exclaimed excitedly as the thought occurred to her.

But her sensible male friend laughed. "I wouldn't go that far, Trix," he said. "I think it's more likely we're seeing a combination of prints - one over the other. As hard as it is to believe, I'm guessing a wolf probably killed the boar, and a bear came to expect the spoils. Beau's truck probably scared the animals off. It had to have been a fresh kill, or nothing would have been left of it by the time you encountered it."

Trixie rose and began looking for additional tracks that might confirm the young man's theory. The aggressive tires on Mr. Benoit's pickup had destroyed many of the mysterious prints. Still, the small number of tracks bugged Miss Belden. "Jim, shouldn't we see more tracks if multiple animals were milling about? I'm no expert," she admitted. "But it looks to me, whatever made these prints was walking on two legs."

Jim assessed the situation logically as he and his sister joined their muddled friend. "I imagine the road was already dry in places when the animals came through, Trix," the young man decided. "All we're seeing are the impressions left in the mud. So come on. Why don't you and Honey show me where the fellas drug the boar's remains so we can get back to Camp?"

Honey pointed to a spot just beyond the twisted oak. "The pig should be over there in the brush," she said. "Beau was joking that he planned to leave that horrible thing there as a gift to his grandmother. You can't see the Foret's house from here, but Beau said it's just on the other side of those trees."

"His grandmother!?" Jim whooped with amusement. "Sure Shot Shelly?"

Trixie nodded. "It's supposed to be a secret," she said. "Bernie disowned his Mom when she got remarried. To hear Hallie tell it, the Benoits and LeBlancs have been feuding with the Forets since the dawn of time. Anyway, Cap warns the Forets will shoot trespassers on site. So if we go see that boar, we'll want to keep low and be extra quiet, Jim."

Only Mr. Frayne wasn't concerned about being seen or heard. The Forets would be out gator hunting this time of day – including Sure Shot Shelly. The young man and his captain had seen Ms. Foret on the water the day before with her oldest stepson, Lucien. The surly woman had apparently recovered from her illness.

So into the overgrowth Trixie and the red-headed boy went. Only Honey hung back. "Don't forget to watch for snakes!" she called after them. "I'll stay here and act as lookout."

Trixie smirked as she picked up a downed stick to help beat back the thick weeds. "You do that, Hon," she returned over her shoulder.

Trixie and Jim located the carcass quickly. The feral hog was exactly where Honey had indicated it'd be. And though the local scavengers had all but picked the unfortunate animal's bones clean, much of its scruffy hide remained and reeked of death.

"Gleeps," Jim breathed as he circled the foul carnage. "Look at the size of this thing, Trix. No single coyote took him down."

"Cap said boar was a real monster," the stunned young lady said. "Its skeleton reminds me of some of the dinosaur skeletons we saw in the National Museum in Washington DC. Those curving tusks coming out of the pig's skull look positively prehistoric."

"They are mighty gnarly," the young man agreed. "Check out the crack in the right one. This big boy put up one heck of a good fight."

As Miss Belden leaned closer to examine the jagged fracture in the oversized tooth, she noticed coarse grey hairs caught in the break. Excitedly reaching for the stands with her left hand, the stick in the girl's right brushed up against the deceased beast's rib cage.

As something hissed and slithered out of the cavity, Trixie shivered. She'd learned long ago that snakes, unless provoked, rarely attacked unless they felt threatened. But as the coiling viper opened its pink-white mouth in a show of warning, the young lady knew she was in trouble. The snake was poisonous. The cold-blooded vertebrate's triangle-shaped head and cat-like pupils were sure giveaways.

But the startled young lady's identification had cost her.

Before Trixie could jump away, the deadly cottonmouth struck!